


Drivers License

by BasketCase182



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Graphic, Homophobia, I’m bad at tags, M/M, Soulmates kinda, Warning: Suicide, angsty, gerard is dead and haunting frank, rewritten
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22008178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BasketCase182/pseuds/BasketCase182
Summary: Frank finds an old driver's license in his car. A really old one. From 1967. What freaks him out is his car is a 2016 model. Plus, he knows no one named Gerard Way.
Relationships: Frank Iero & Gerard Way, Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	Drivers License

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I recently reread this for the first time in like three years and I hate it so fucking much. I originally posted this on my wattpad but deleted my account Nd I copied and pasted it here without even rereading it and I hate this. I wrote this when I was 13 so its a given that it’ll suck. I still really like this concept though so I’ve decided that I’ll make use of the corona quarantine and rewrite it, hopefully with less cringe and better grammar. 
> 
> EDIT: this is the rewritten version, I hope you like it!

The moon and stars had vanished far too fast for Frank’s liking, as he’d spent all night staring at them and now realized he’d be exhausted at work. It was only when the blinding sun struck him down through the grimy window that he felt his eyes droop and his limbs ache for the comfort of his bed. His alarm went off just then, as if he’d needed any further help leaving his daze. 

The brisk morning did not go down well with Frank, and he was suddenly wishing he'd grabbed his coat instead of just the flimsy cardigan he had on now but it was too late to go back or he'd be late for his job.  
He was just starting up the car, when something caught Frank's eye. Protruding from the sun visor was a card of some sort. Frank pulled the keys out of ignition, now curious. With a small tug, the visor snapped open and the item in question fell perfectly into Frank’s lap.  
Upon further inspection, Frank concluded it was a driver’s license. 

1967 was a great year, Frank was sure. The Doors’ debut album came out, so it must have been great. Frank was positive that many good things came out of that year, however the driver’s license resting in Frank’s hand seemed anything but. How does a driver’s license from 1967 end up in a 2016 model car that was never previously owned? Moreover, Frank had never noticed it before, and it was not as though he’d never used that visor.  
A wave of alarm spread through Frank, who now thought someone had broken into his car. Perhaps this was a trick meant to distract him before he was kidnapped and trafficked.  
However, the nerves were oddly soothed when Frank read the name on the license. ‘Gerard Arthur Way’.

Frank frowned. “Who are you?” He muttered. Frank was automatically intrigued by this man. Thoughts of a break ins and going to work were far behind him now, as his mind raced one hundred words per minute. He couldn’t seem to think of anything else, only Gerard. He couldn’t safely assume that the man had passed away, yet somehow he had a strange feeling in his gut that told him otherwise. Frank wasn’t the most sympathetic, yet it saddened him to think of the man being dead.  
Frank put the keys back in ignition after carefully resting the license on the passenger seat as though handing it to its possessor. 

The town was small and far from most other areas. There was only one graveyard, where everyone was buried. Frank hopped out of the car, with every intention of searching the graveyard. However, his attention was pulled away by the abandoned secondary school down the street from where he stood. Looking back and forth between the rows of graves past the iron gaits and the ruined structure, Frank began walking towards the school as though he were a possessed man. 

The school had shut down in the 1980s, due to low enrollment rates. Everyone was choosing to enroll in the new high school built just ten minutes from town. Now vines and weeds ruled the halls and empty classrooms served broken glass and vandalized halls.  
Frank had never been in the school, he’d just passed it by whenever he needed to be in this part of town. Supposedly, it was going to finally be taken down in the coming year. Frank would have advocated for it before, but in that moment he felt a twinge of sadness. He wouldn’t have any connections to the school, yet somehow he couldn’t help but silently mourn the building at the end of its longevity.  
Frank realized he’d been staring at the two large oak doors for a while. His eyes raked the cracks that formed little connected paths through the wood. Though the doors looked sturdy despite being slightly broken down, Frank prayed that they’d open easily.  
When the door didn’t immediately open, some eruption of emotion grew in Frank, who wasn’t certain if it were despair or just him being really pissed off. He wasn’t certain, as he didn’t take the time to process this, instead reacting quickly and kicking down the door in one swift motion. 

Surprised at his success, Frank stared at the fallen door in shock. It had made a loud noise, and though Frank knew that it was rare to see anyone around this street being that it was so desolate, he quickly escaped the street view and entered the building.  
By the time he was down the end of the first hall, Frank was certain he’d inhaled more asbestos than he had nicotine in his entire lifetime.  
Though he wasn’t sure of where he was going, his feet seemed to be familiarized with the layout. Frank almost jumped once or twice, swearing he could feel someone touch his shoulders.  
The man wouldn’t be surprised if the school was haunted. 

Frank found himself at an old office, the door to which was left open. Upon peering in, Frank saw a mess of broken glass scattered around the floor, a ransacked desk and papers everywhere. In a corner were files, with the years of graduation labeled on each. Though they looked fairly beat up, they wouldn't budge when Frank tried to force them open.  
Frank was beginning to regain full consciousness. What was he doing here in the first place? He felt himself beginning to hyperventilate, worries of himself getting arrested for breaking and entering, or the asbestos entering his system. But above all that, he was significantly more worried about the energy he could feel coursing through his veins. His heart began to beat so fast that Frank thought he was having a heart attack.  
Suddenly, his legs gave out and he fell hard on the floor. The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was a familiar hand caressing his left cheek. 

______

“Gerard, one of these days I promise we’ll get away.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Frank frowned. “I have a plan, ya know.” Gerard raised an eyebrow, the rest of his face remaining stoic. Frank smiled, knowing he was listening. “I do. We’ll go to Paris for a few months, live in an apartment and then once we’ve put ourselves together, we’ll disappear into the French countryside. We can live on a farm, miles and miles away from anyone and everyone who’s ever treated us wrong, and especially from the class of 1968.”

Gerard dropped his act, letting a dopey smile wash over his face. “That’s a sweet idea, Frankie. A real sweet one, but do you really think we’re gonna pull all that off after graduation next month?” He stood up from where they sat, under a tree in the dense forest surrounding the dead beat town. Gerard offered a hand to help Frank up. 

Now that they were both standing, Frank had to look up to talk to Gerard. “Yes, I do think so. I know your mother has been speaking in French to you since you were a baby and I know you’re fluent. The language barrier shouldn’t be a problem as long as you’re talking. And ok, I know it’s quite pricey to fly to Paris, but I’ve saved enough money for two plane tickets, honest! And then there’s the matter of the apartment, but we can figure something out!”

“You really have thought all this out, haven’t you?” 

“Of course I have.” Frank smiled up in adoration, slightly out of breath from his previous rant. 

“Ne comptez pas vos poulets avant l'éclosion des œufs” Is all Gerard said, with a certain sadness in his eyes, despite his smile. 

______

Frank woke up slowly. The first thing he saw was the deep red color of his own blood. The next was the sharp pain in his left cheek. Frank scrambled to get up, feeling glass shards penetrate his skin the more he moved. With a pathetic effort, Frank managed the stand. He winced at the pain shooting through his body from all the cuts. He caught sight of his face in the reflection of a larger piece of glass. Under his left eye was a bruise in the shape of a dainty hand.  
Frank went into a panic again. Had someone else been with him this whole time? He knew for sure that the hand shape did not match his own. Frank wanted to cry, wishing he’d never found the drivers license. 

“Fuck you, Gerard Way!” Is what echoed off the walls with peeling paint, through the rickety door and down the overgrown halls. 

There was a small window, close to the top of the wall. In a beg for forgiveness, a ray of sunlight shone through, landing on the one drawer of the desk that hadn’t been opened when Frank arrived.  
Frank looked back and forth between the window and the drawer, before violently yanking it open. Inside were keys, one for each graduation year.  
Frank felt rather stupid now, knowing it was this easy.  
After rummaging for a while, Frank found a key labeled “1968” in black marker.  
‘Especially from the class of 1968’ ran through his head on repeat, louder and louder each time.

Frank held the key shakily, looking towards the intimidating files. Though the mechanisms required a sharp jolt and a bit of fidgeting, Frank made the key turn and the file drawer came bursting open.  
Folders on each of the students of that year, covered in dust and a few dead flies were now on perfect display for Frank. He went straight to the ‘W’ section. After two Washington’s and a Wong, Gerard Way’s file was in Frank’s hands. 

Upon holding it, Frank noticed it was much thicker than the other files. Flipping through it, Frank saw report after report, disciplinary action after detention. Towards the back was his class schedules for each of the four years. Frank could see he was in an advanced art class, but other than that he seemed to be struggling.  
After further inspection, Frank noticed a report that interested him. 

“Reason for office visit, possession of disturbing poetry?” Frank read aloud, his eyebrows knitting together. Reading the poem, he bit his lip. The line that specifically stood out was the second to last: “...for those who take their life, through rope or through knife, have blown out their last candle and remain eternally in the afterlife…” Frank bit his lip worriedly. He continued on searching, not entirely sure what for.  
Eventually, Frank found an address, Gerard’s former home address. 

Frank quickly realized the address didn’t exist, or at least not anymore. Frank, luckily, knew the street in question. It was in the forest surrounding town, once a small street with a few houses and white picket fences, it had now fallen to time and nature. The last family moved out in the 1980s, and it had stayed desolate since. 

It didn’t take long to get to the sight that was once a home, most of which had fallen apart. What was left standing was a door, the remnants of some floorboards, a few bits of walls and a few furniture pieces like tables and chairs.

Domesticity and warmth ran static through Frank’s body. Upon further exploration, he found what he decided could have been a teen’s room. The floor board remains looked more abundant, as though the weather and teenage bandits had been kinder to this area. A twin size metal bed frame with broken ends sat lopsided on one bit, the mattress and bed sheets gone. A ransacked dresser stood across from it, stationed at a chunk of an ancient wall with torn dark grey wallpaper. All the drawers were gone or thrown on the floor. A lot of broken glass and dust sat around. Moss had completely taken over the sun faded teddy bear who sat slouched near the bed, drenched with rain and earth. The once navy blue fur, now torn and light grey-blue made Frank sad. It wasn’t quite like a child’s teddy bear, more like the kind you’d give a girl after winning it at a fair.  
Frank couldn’t be sure, couldn’t possibly infer anything reasonably, but decided ultimately it was Gerard’s room. It was as though he’d once been there, lazing on the bed on a school night and talking about the future. 

All senses of self awareness had left Frank, who was now on autopilot, his soul working off muscle memory. His inspections were upheld by languid and fluid movement as though he’d been going here his whole life. How could he forget?

All this came to a halt when Frank nearly fell through a loose floorboard. His gaze dropped as he came to a crouch right before the spot. Carefully, he clawed around the edges, managing to get a grip on the wooden board before pulling it up.  
The subfloor seemed to be an ecosystem of its own world, with mossy plants and vines overtaking the stumps used to support the house. Directly below the floorboard was a mountain of sand and dirt  
Frank considered the possibilities. Some teenagers could have made this room their hangout, could have hidden drugs or beer beneath the pile. Some sort of animal could be living in the crawl space.  
Yet somehow Frank knew it was neither that created the little mountain, and he began digging. Coarse dirt got under fingernails and his knees began to hurt from kneeling yet he continued at a frenzied pace. 

Frank came to a stop when he saw a small wooden box. It had a latch, but thankfully no lock. The top was painted in an abstract fashion with strokes of blue and green that somehow captured every emotion Frank felt when reason left his body today.  
The box opened with a groan, and inside was what slowed down the clocks. 

A photo, of the same man Frank had been hunting all day, now sat next to a familiar face. Frank couldn’t quite say why he looked familiar but he most definitely did. Beneath the photo were two plane tickets to France, dated from September 1968. The second Frank’s finger tips laid upon the halved tickets, he felt tears prickle. He had no real reason to cry, he didn’t know why the tickets went unused. Yet there he sat, crying harder than he’d ever felt himself sob before.  
Through his blurry eyes, he saw a metal ring. Not a fancy or intricate one, but a quality one. It was a thicker ring, made of some sort of silver colored metal. Somehow it fit when Frank put it on. At the very bottom was an old notebook of lined paper, with most of them ripped out. All that remained were two pages, one being a poem and the last being a letter of some sort. Frank felt uncomfortable reading either but he’d come this far, so he read the letter, choosing it first being that it was addressed to him, sort of.

‘Dear Frankie, 

You’re the only one I care enough about to address this to. I know we had our plans to grow old in the south of France, making a living off wine and love but you must have known as well as I do that it was bound to fall apart due to my own recklessness. No matter how hard I could have tried, I would never have been enough for you. When I’m gone, please take care of my notebook. The world doesn’t deserve to know what truly happened to me, you’re the only one who I owe an explanation to. I don’t want to be the one to drag you down this route I’ve gone. Go to France, meet someone and make sure they’re good to you. My ring is yours now, it’ll have no use on my maggot ridden fingers. I could never thank you dearly enough for making these past 4 years of my life worth sticking around for. For if you weren’t around, I would have been gone long ago with no note and without a trace. You’re worth the risk of being caught, of shaming my family and angering the church. In death and in life, I love you more than anything. I hope you can forgive and forget about me.

Yours, Gerard’

Frank was just now realizing how much of a mistake today was. He felt as though he could throw up, and all he heard was white noise being penetrated by a desperate cry of the past. He brought himself away from the hole, before stumbling back on his bottom and attempting to scramble away. He only got so far before all that was left to do was curl up and scream out.  
Frank decided this wasn’t something he was supposed to find. This wasn’t for him to pry into. Yet somehow everything felt so personal and acquainted that Frank couldn’t help but sob at the loss. 

______

“How could you be so selfish?! You dickhead!” Frank managed to yell out through the heavy sobs wracking his core. He could very well throw up. Gerard had hung himself in their hiding spot in the forest. Frank clung his to feet, not wanting to let go, though he knew Gerard already had.  
“You fucking prick.” Frank hiccuped, cheeks red with tears as he gasped for his next breath. It seemed as though he couldn’t get the air in quick enough. “You know I loved you and you’ve gone and broke my heart.” 

Frank had run directly to the hanging body the second he saw it, so it was only in the split second between another sob and a gasp that he noticed Gerard’s notebook, all the pages gone but two. It was open to the very last page. Frank gingerly let his arms fall from around Gerard’s legs, throat still stinging and chest pains growing as tears continued to fall. 

Frank nearly screamed reading the note. He felt his pockets for the plane tickets he’d brought with him, meant to be a surprise. His eyes caught the metal ring sitting on a mushroom stool across from the tree they were next to. He immediately recognized it as Gerard’s. 

He knew he couldn’t wear it. Frank wouldn’t have the strength. He didn’t believe he had the strength for any of this, but Frank knew he’d have to pull himself together enough for what he’d ultimately have to do now: bury his soulmate.  
He knew Gerard would never forgive him if he buried him in the church graveyard. Frank decided it would be best if he buried him here. Frank’s eyes caught a daffodil out of the corner of his eyes.

_____  
Frank gasped out loud when he woke up. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out for. It was rare Frank remembered his dreams, but he remembered this one very clear. He couldn’t comprehend how. It took a minute of catching his breath to realize he hadn’t stopped crying.  
He stood, knowing he’d have to find the spot, for his own closure. To pay respects, if anything. 

Frank wasn’t sure how he’d find it, being that the forest looked more or less the same in all spots. However, he’d come to understand that his body could navigate better than he could, so he allowed it to happen.  
He let his feet be the guide, let his mind go quiet and let Gerard in. 

He had arrived, he knew it. There was no indication, no headstone or cross. Just a jumble of daffodils all growing steadily by a tree that looked awfully familiar. Frank knew from the feeling in his stomach that Gerard was here. He lowered his head out of respect, not entirely sure what to do.  
He decided on sitting down in front of the yellow flowers, and letting the tears flow at a quiet pace. He allowed himself to be hurt in that moment. 

Frank always felt he was missing the presence of some sort. Frank truly was alone in this reality.  
Gerard would never forgive himself for ending his life, disabling his ability to be reborn. He would never forgive himself for abandoning his soulmate. He yearned for Frank to remember him, but it could never happen.  
The one person who understood Frank more than anyone was Gerard, but now Frank had never met Gerard. To Frank, Gerard was just a sad mystery. Frank was forever going to feel a sense of self hate from his previous life for not saving him, never being able to identify it. He was forever alone, and would forever be in a state of ignorance.  
Gerard wanted frank to remember him, so very desperately. He planted the driver's license, it didn't work. It never could.To Frank, Gerard was just the deceased owner of an ominous driver's license. Never anything more. 

Gerard would simply have to learn to be okay with that. Seeing Frank gently put the metal ring on; the one he had, in a previous life, left in Gerard’s bedroom floor along with every other memorabilia that would haunt him, Gerard knew he would be okay.


End file.
